


part of a machine (not a human being)

by FreshBrains



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Angst, Astrology, Awkward Conversations, Developing Relationship, F/F, Family Dinners, POV Cosima, Post-Season/Series 03, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5118911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My grandmother always said there had to be one bad stitch in even an expert artist’s work. It shows it’s real—made by man, not machines.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	part of a machine (not a human being)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xJadedGurlx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xJadedGurlx/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy! Title is from Halsey's "Gasoline."

“This is beautiful,” Cosima says, running her hands over the white quilt covering Shay’s queen-sized bed. It’s one of her bad days—her lungs are on fire, everything between her hips seems to ache with a foreign, steady pain. Nothing is _not_ hurting.

She’s already seen the doctor. He tells her to wait it out. And if Cosima’s going to wait it out, it’s not going to be alone in her apartment, and she’s not going to take a plane to wherever Sarah’s weird icy secret tundra is, no matter how much Sarah wants her to.

She’s starting to realize that when she’s in pain, all she wants is Shay.

“It is, isn’t it?” Shay smiles down at the quilt as she sits on the edge of the bed. She sets a steaming mug of peppermint tea onto the nightstand. “My grandmother made it years ago. It was my gift for when I finished my CAF training.”

Cosima sits up a bit to drink her tea. “Why sunflowers?” The faded white fabric is patterned in red diagonal lines that form boxes, each box containing a golden sunflower and two red and gold hearts. The edges are stitched in vines and tiny, butter-yellow daisies.

“I was her _solnechnaya_ ,” Shay said, lips curling into a smile. “We all were—my mom and my sisters. My grandmother always said she was glad to have so many girls in her family.” She curls up next to Cosima in bed, eyes still trained on the other woman for signs of discomfort or pain. “She said girls bring more sunshine than boys.”

“Won’t argue there,” Cosima says, lacing her fingers through Shay’s. It’s on the tip of her tongue— _I was so happy to find out I had so many sisters, and then the damn_ boys _had to come along_ —but she knows she can’t. Not yet, at least. Not when there’s still so much they don’t know. “Do you get to see her very often?”

“She passed two years ago,” Shay says, voice even and unaffected. “I was in the service at the time. I was so sudden.” She traces a sunflower with her fingertip. “She died in her bathtub. It was her favorite place in the word, this old claw-foot thing, surrounded by bubbles and soaps and—“ she cuts herself off, face flushing. Cosima knows she’s thinking of that afternoon in the apartment with the Cosima bleeding into the crystal-clear bathwater.

Cosima just squeezes her hand. “Sounds like a good way to go. Warm. Smells nice.”

They sit in silence for a moment. The sunlight seeps in through the bay window; the room is warm, smelling lightly of the musky incense Shay loves so much.

Shay lifts Cosima’s hand to press a kiss to her fingers. “You’re not going anywhere anytime soon. Not on my watch.”

Cosima nods. “Yeah, I know.”

*

Alison doesn’t really like Shay. She doesn’t say it out loud, of course—she’s too _tactful_ for that. But Cosima can tell. And whenever Shay has her back turned, Cosima shoots Alison a glare over her glasses. Alison pointedly ignores her.

Cosima’s starting to realize sisters can really suck sometimes.

“So, Shay,” Alison says, cutting soap into neat bricks at her workbench at _Bubbles_. It smells like honeysuckle—a cloying scent. “That’s a pretty name. Is it in the family?”

“No, actually,” Shay says politely, still unwinding her long scarf from around her neck. “My mother was expecting a boy. She was going to name him Shane, so…”

“Hm,” Alison hums, stacking soap on a crystal cake platter. “One would think she’d go with Shawna.” She looks up, smiling cheerfully at the couple before her. “Would you two like to come by for supper tonight?”

“No, thanks,” Cosima says at the same time Shay says, “We’d love to, thanks!”

Half an hour later, Cosima is seated at the Hendrix dining table (they have an actual _dining_ room, who does that?) with Shay on her left and Gemma on her right. Gemma is making a tiny volcano out of her mashed potatoes, her green beans and broccoli serving as the trees of the village below, and if Cosima wasn’t trying to make Shay think she was totally and completely normal, she’d show Gemma how to turn gravy into hot lava.

“I have to ask,” Shay says, glancing swiftly between Alison and Cosima, “for twins, you two are _nothing_ alike.”

Alison drops her fork onto her plate with a clatter; Donnie chokes on his pot roast. “We get that a lot,” Alison says, smile thin. “But, we _are_ twins. No doubt about that.”

“Nope,” Cosima says through her teeth, “no doubt.”

Shay laughs, a little uneasy. “I believe you. I just…it’s weird, but I’m getting totally different vibes from you both. Cosima is such a Pisces, but Alison…you feel like a total Aries.”

After a quick review of what she can remember of Shay’s astrology chart next to her sink, Cosima is only a little impressed that Alison is _indeed_ an Aries.

“Oh?” Alison lifts her glass of sparkling cider to her lips. “How so?”

“Determination is a big factor,” Shay says. She nudges her bag resting at her feet, stuffed to the brim with soap, bubble bath, and salts, courtesy of _Bubbles_ and Alison’s habit of overcompensation. “Aries are hardworking. They hate inactivity.”

“Sounds like you, babe,” Donnie says, nodding with encouragement. He then frowns, refilling his plate from the dish Alison offers. “But, you’re a Pisces. Like Cosima. Because you’re twins.”

“Uh, what are Pisces like? I forget,” Cosima says, trying not to curse the Hendrix family in her head. She knew they should’ve ret-conned a little more before getting together.

“They’re compassionate,” Shay says. She smiles and takes Cosima’s hand on the table. She’s wearing a big ring with a turquoise stone; Cosima _knows_ Alison hates it. “And deep down, they’re hopelessly romantic.”

Cosima flushes under the attention, biting her lip. Right as she’s about to lean in for a kiss, Shay continues.

“Pisces are also really afraid their pasts are going to come back to haunt them,” she says, wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “Even if they don’t have anything to hide.”

A cool shudder runs down Cosima’s spine, and she just _looks_ at Shay, tries to see if something major just happened between them. _She wouldn’t….would she?_ She’s accepted that Shay is not involved with Dyad or Castor or Neolution, she’s not a _part_ of them, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t found something out. Just because she isn’t a part of their past doesn’t mean she doesn’t _know_.

Alison and Donnie both look like they’ve been shot, which, okay, _weird_ , but Cosima will table that for another day.

Shay just sips her wine, glancing around the table with her chilly blue eyes. She swallows hard. “I feel like I’ve put my foot in my mouth.”

The room lifts, everyone breaking out of their frozen state. Alison laughs, fingers grazing the string of pearls on her neck. Donnie wipes his brow with his napkin.

“Adults are weird,” Oscar whispers to Gemma, just loud enough for Cosima to hear.

She lifts her fist for a bump with Oscar beneath the table, which he returns. “You’ve got that right, little man,” she mumbles, suddenly not hungry.

*

Cosima lies on her back, breathing slowly. The room is so cool and clean—Shay’s apartment always feels full of light and free of dust. Cosima’s lungs are always clear when she stays over. Cracking open her eyes, Cosima looks over at the clock on the bedside table—it’s only six in the morning. Shay sleeps softly next to her. She’s usually up like clockwork, an old military habit.

Cosima wriggles back beneath the quilt, leeching what’s left of the night’s warmth. The blankets feel a little humid, tousled by their bodies, and Cosima feels a light surge of arousal run through her body when she brushes up against Shay’s bare body.

“You’re up early,” Shay murmurs, cuddling in close to Cosima. Her pale blonde hair spills across the pillow. She drapes an arm across Cosima’s bare belly. “It’s Saturday.”

“I know,” Cosima says, fumbling for her glasses so she can see Shay clearly where they’re tangled on the bed. “I slept so well last night. After we…” she trails off, and Shay giggles, curling in closer. _Made crazy science_ , she wants to say, but that’s not Shay’s joke. Cosima’s not ready to share that with her.

They just breathe the same air for a bit, occupy the same space. The noises on the street filter in from outside, but the world is still calm enough for them to stay in bed.

“I hope you’ll tell me someday,” Shay says, lips grazing Cosima’s bare shoulder. She kisses her, little peppering kisses along her arm, until she reaches Cosima’s lips. “I’m not going to force you. I’m not going to pester you.” She tucks one of Cosima’s locs behind her ears. “But I hope you’ll tell me soon.”

Cosima doesn’t respond for a long time. “There’s so much,” she says lamely, closing her eyes. “There’s so much that not even _I_ understand.”

“Cosima,” Shay says, sitting up on one elbow. The blanket slips down to reveal her bare breasts, and Cosima’s breath hitches, but she knows this moment can’t be salvaged by pushing Shay back into the sheets and kissing her senseless. “I can tell you things about _me_. Things that are messy, that are…” she pauses, sighing. “Things that I wanted to leave behind.”

“I don’t need you to tell me anything,” Cosima says, and it’s the truth. “I don’t want to know the things you want to hide.”

Shay inhales deeply, nodding, as if she’s trying to choose her words carefully. “And I love that about you.” She opens her mouth like she wants to say something else, but instead, she leans down and presses a warm kiss to Cosima’s lips.

For now, Cosima accepts it.

*

“I think we ruined your blanket last night,” Cosima says sheepishly, holding up a corner of Shay’s quilt. In one of the golden flowers embroidered across the border, a string has come loose, splaying a crooked thread across the images.

Shay just laughs, still busying herself in the kitchen peeling vegetables for supper. “That’s just the bad stitch. Not our fault…this time.” She winks at Cosima. They did make the best of their night together, one of the only nights Cosima felt well enough to make love until they were both exhausted. Cosima thinks idly that she never liked sex like that before—she needed to be alone too much, needed to draw inwards too much. But with Shay, it doesn’t feel like sharing too much.

Cosima furrows her brow, playing idly with the loose thread. “The bad stitch?”

Shay smiles as she peels the carrots slowly, methodically. “My grandmother always said there had to be one bad stitch in even an expert artist’s work. It shows it’s real—made by man, not machines.” She drops the vegetables into a pot of broth simmering on the stove.

Cosima nods. She pulls the quilt over her body and tries to ignore the ache in her chest. This time, it’s not in her lungs. “I think I’m ready to tell you the truth,” she says. _I’m the bad stitch,_ she thinks. _I’m a machine-made flaw._ “About me. About my…sister.” _Sisters,_ she wants to say. _I am a few,_ she remembers Beth’s words from so long ago and wonders how she can shape them for Shay.

Shay pauses, hand poised above the boiling pot of broth. She wipes her hands on a dish towel. “Okay,” she says, exhaling deeply. “But first, we’re going to eat.” She walks over to the sofa and smooths the quilt over Cosima, making sure she’s comfortable. “I’ll bring it to you.”

She doesn’t know why, but Cosima thinks that’s the best thing she could’ve said. “Yeah,” she says. “Let’s eat first.”


End file.
